CHOCOLATE, TEA AND THE DUCHESS (9 page)

around every inch of him, like a glove. Every sensitive spot was being worked,

transmitting shockwaves of pleasure throughout his body. No woman had ever felt this

good; it simply hadn't been his experience.

His pace increased as the need rose within him. Her moans encouraged him; he

wanted her pleasure.

"Open your eyes," he said, as he felt her body tense around him. "I want to see

your eyes."

He felt much tenderness for her. He kissed her, while stroking long and deep.

Her face seemed to tell the story; her enjoyment was in her smile, her moans.

He wanted her; her body thrilled him. Her fulfillment became the most

important thing.

He rocked his hips, short strokes, as he kissed her forehead, cheeks, lips. He'd

placed his hands on her cheeks, wishing to study her face, wanting her to take away the

"other" thoughts, the "other" needs. In this moment, he wanted her, truly wanted her to

be most important in his life.

"You all right?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yes, quite." Her answer sounded desperately breathless.

He lifted his body, changing the angle, finally giving her what she truly needed,

though she had no idea what that was. He saw when the fire hit her eyes, the

recognition that something new was happening—different, unexplained, inexplicable.

"What is happening?" she asked, gasping. "I'm on fire, Phillip."

"Yes, isn't it wonderful?"

She didn't answer. He began to thrust harder, though not much faster. She'd

closed her eyes, seemingly lost in the web of heat and lust he wove around her.

Her body tensed, her fingernails dug deeply into his back. He smiled at the pain,

which acted as a whip. Their union became a conflagration. He pumped, long, hard,

watching, sensing, feeling, knowing the moment she was beyond sanity.

"Let it go, my girl," he groaned, "let it go."

Her answer was a gasp. Her body went taut; she pulled him closer still,

fingernails scraping against his skin, her body fully responding to his. Her shouts of

release were like music to Phillip, for he wanted her pleasure nearly as much as he

wanted his own. His came amid bellows of gratification, the long strokes at the end

punctuated by the sharp staccato thrusts afforded him one of the most powerful

orgasms of his life.

He held her close, feeling her arms around him as well, felt her panting breath

that matched his own. He felt moisture against his cheek, assumed it was sweat. His

body relaxed, as if liquid.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him, not wishing to separate from her just

yet. She remained wrapped in his arms, his brave little wife. He knew their life

wouldn't always be like this, for this was an exception, not the rule. He wasn't made to

be a husband, at least not the man he'd just been. He wasn't a caring, thoughtful sort,

who saw to other's needs before his own. He was a selfish bastard, who this lovely

young thing would come to hate. He had not doubt.

They dozed for a time, still bound by what they'd shared. He opened one eye to

find her staring up at him. He'd never had a lover do that before. But then again, if he

were honest, he'd always left after the fucking, which indeed is all it had ever been. He

never lounged with a lover before, something that made him uncomfortable for

numerous reasons, none of which existed at the moment.

"What are you looking at?" He recognized his voice as rusty, heavy.

She smiled, her fingernail scraping across his growth of beard. "This will have to

go," she stated, with a twinkle in her eye.

"So it will." He kissed her lightly, wishing desperately he could be the man he

saw in her eyes. Though he'd rarely seen it, he thought he recognized adoration and

knew he didn't deserve that from her.

She rested her head on his shoulder and shortly after, he heard the sound of her

even breathing, felt her body finally relax completely, and reveled in her warm breath

against his skin.

He kissed her forehead, wanting to feel connected to her, willing it to happen. He

couldn't speak the words he knew he
should
say, and somehow, he knew he never

would. He'd been alone all his life, even while growing up, separated from his mother

and siblings by a father whose only goal was to raise him to be the duke. Phillip grew to

be a cold, unfeeling boy, and those attributes only heightened as he aged.

He was selfish and felt a sense of entitlement. On any other day, he would have

taken what he wanted, with no thought otherwise. But this girl, who had, through a

single act of impetuosity, embroiled them in a scandal that could've proved socially

lethal, deserved more than Phillip Allard, the goddamned almighty Duke of Thornhill

ever would.

She deserved a man who spent a few hours on her wedding day, treating her as

though she was special. Every bride should have such consideration taken on her

behalf, her needs attended to, her pleasure realized. What the hell kind of husband

takes a woman to wife, fucks her, and leaves her to grow bitter and cold, then

complains for forty years because she is as he created? Unfortunately, he knew of too

many marriages just like that.

He wouldn't ever be the husband she deserved, for she was far too beautiful for

God to have ever seen fit to award him with her. But they were a part of each other's

lives now, till death do they part. He had an obligation to her to see her safe and secure.

As she slept, the few candles that still struggled to burn showed her to be like a

delicate flower, though he certainly knew better. She was brave and sturdy, someone

he'd be proud to have on his arm. Yet, he knew he'd disappoint her, for even now, his

thoughts were veering toward the Sapphire Club and his eternal quest for what?

Though early morning, he knew the club would be operating. It always was. He

needed the attention only Haynes provided. The man was bloody efficient with a

flogger, and that's what Phillip needed. Muddled with thoughts to which he had no

right, as well as thoughts dark enough to bring about the downfall of the young woman

who lay beside him, he sighed. He didn't deserve the life that Lucien Damrill or

Prentice Hyde had with their wives; that obvious bliss they immersed themselves in

day in and day out. Their wives shared their sexual cravings, the more perverse side of

themselves.

He could never share that with Felicity, for if he did, she would look at him with

disgust and revulsion. The looks she'd given him this day were as she saw him, not as

he actually was. Indeed, he dreaded the day she learned the truth.

Chapter Nine

As Phillip stepped into the entrance hall, the club seemed quiet. All assignations

had long ago been arranged and rooms no doubt filled to capacity. The
ton
loved its sex

raw and often, though to hear them talk, one would think their children had been born

by immaculate conception.

Hampton took Phillip's great coat and hat. "Don't you ever sleep, Hampton?"

"Yes, I do, Your Grace."

"You are always here."

"Yes, I am, Your Grace."

Concise conversation with no information imparted.
Good man, Hampton.

"Is Haynes about?"

"I believe he is, Your Grace."

"Could you find him and ask him to go to my room?"

"I will do that, Your Grace."

Phillip walked across the entrance hall, the loud clicking of the grandfather

clock's pendulum and his heels striking the floor the only sounds he could hear. A

fleeting thought that he might have just asked Hampton to rouse Haynes from his bed

crossed his mind. Then he dismissed it, not particularly caring if that was the case. He

had need of the young man, and he
was
the Duke of Thornhill.

His usual room was dark, but for enough glow from a single moonbeam to allow

him to light a candle. He'd have Haynes set a fire in the grate, for the room had a chill.

While he waited, his mind drifted back to Grosvenor Square and to his wife.

Good God,
his wife
. Never had he thought to have one. Not even now, after a most

satisfying wedding night, did he particularly care to have a wife. He saw no benefit and

great detriment, particularly to her, but none of that mattered now.

A light tap sounded on the door, and a rather disheveled Haynes entered the

room. He
had
roused the man from his bed.

"Good evening, Haynes. I am sorry to have awakened you."

"Are you, Phillip?" Haynes yawned and seemed rather brusque.

He deserved that. Haynes spoke truthfully, instead of the constant deference to

title and consequence.

"Not really. Could you set a fire?"

Without a word, Haynes knelt before the grate, arranged the wood and set the

fire. It all looked so simple to Phillip, yet he'd never done such a thing in all his life. He

felt a degree of shame wash over him, then dismissed it as foolishness.

"What can I do for you, Phillip?" Haynes's tone had more than a tinge of

irritation.

"I got married today."

"You woke me to tell me that?"

"No." His reason for coming here at this hour was rapidly becoming ridiculous.

However, he was here and he would get that for which he came. He began to disrobe.

"I have great need of you, Haynes." Phillip removed his trousers, his erection

leaving no doubt as to his intention.

"I can see that; however, that will have to wait. I believe there is something else

to attend to first."

As Haynes retrieved the strap, Phillip stripped away the rest of his clothing. In

this room, he felt at home. The dark agonies he'd experienced here drew him back to

himself, like the beckoning fingers of a wraith. The more pain he got—the more he

wanted.

He positioned himself as always, legs spread wide. Haynes fastened the

restraints, though for effect only, for Phillip wasn't about to forego what came next.

He hoped Haynes was irritated enough that his anger would come out in his

lashes. Phillip wanted to feel every strike, every sting. He wanted it to burn for days, for

through that, he felt alive, reminded constantly of what he was and who he'd never be.

No respite between strokes, indeed Haynes laid the lashes on nicely. Phillip

gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, relishing the sound of the wide leather strap as it

slapped his skin. Even the whistle it made flying through the air held significance. He

concentrated, not wanting to spend his seed during the thrashing. He had other plans.

The first of the last strikes bit hard, laid over the tender skin of his ass. The

second snapped in the air and Haynes placed it precisely over the others. The third was

orgasmic, bringing tears to Phillip's eyes. Then, all too quickly, it was over.

He always liked the feeling just after the lashing ended, when the burn was at its

peak. On weak legs he shook, but his soul was salved.

Haynes released the bonds and disrobed without saying a word. When Phillip

turned around, gathering his strength, he saw Haynes had bent over the edge of the

bed. Such a blatant invitation, one that said, "Fuck me and get it over with."

If Phillip were a considerate man, he'd allow the man to go seek his bed once

more. However, he
was
the Duke of Thornhill, and all of London knew he was
not
a

considerate man.

Phillip bathed his raging erection in oil and then did the same to the willing

man's anus. He slipped two fingers into Haynes's rectum. "How does that feel?"

Phillip knew Haynes well enough to know his anger wouldn't overset the man's

need for release. He enjoyed a good ass-fucking as well as Phillip enjoyed giving it to

him.

"Your cock would feel better."

"As you wish."

Phillip took his time, slowing inching himself into Haynes. Once past the

restrictive muscle, he used quick, hard thrusts, pounding his cock into Haynes's ass.

Animalistic in nature, the grunts and moans, guttural and raw, resounded in the room.

This was a fuck for fucking sake. This had nothing to do with emotion. Phillip

simply wanted the feeling and release, tight, forbidden, and empty.

He unleashed a savagery he'd not shown Haynes before. He slapped the man's

pale ass cheeks with each stroke. Haynes groaned.

When Phillip came, he screamed like a wild man, taking his pleasure with

blinding cruelty. Once spent, he didn't linger, pulling out straight away. This was his

habit, for no emotional attachment resided between him and his vessel.

Haynes stood and Phillip looked into his eyes. The darkness he saw there

appeared threatening but appealing as well. On impulse, Phillip pulled the man's head

toward him and kissed him hard. Haynes kissed him back, matching the urgency,

bringing his arms around Phillip's neck.

When they broke apart, Haynes said, "Bend over."

The words shot warmth through Phillip, unexpected yet welcome. He'd never

allowed what he thought Haynes proposed, and yet, he found himself complying

without hesitation.

He bent over the bed, right where Haynes had been moments before. He heard a

drawer slide and felt cold liquid as Haynes applied the oil. A slathering noise told him

Haynes was lubricating his own cock.

"Hold your cheeks open, Phillip, and spread your legs wide."